S P A C E
by Hellie Ace
Summary: Arthur Kirkland would like, just once, to have a have a normal mission. Instead he is sent to an abandoned space lab for data collection. But the lab isn't as abandoned as everyone thinks it is. What's been hiding in the labyrinth of death and debris?


_**S P A C E :**_

**Wow, two new fics in one day? Crazy. :P**

**Anyways, so I decided this would be a fun one-shot to write. I will admit, I was HEAVILY influenced by Portal(especially Portal) and maybe a little Dead Space too on this one. You've been warned now if those games mean anything to you. ;)**

**Actually, here's your real warning:**

**This story is rated M for the following reasons:**

**Excessive swearing.**

**Mild sexuality.**

**Implied homosexual relationships and**

**Violence.**

**There. Now you've truly been warned.**

**Enjoy (and please excuse the ridiculous amount of mistakes. I'm very tired...)**

**Also, Kay... "SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!" *nods* :3 Because you should understand that I'm a loser like that.**

* * *

><p>Arthur breathed hard into the hot, confined space of his helmet. His labored breath left blinding patches of vapor obscuring the inner screen as he trudged through the wreckage of the ancient laboratory. The tight chest plate of his space suit painfully constricted the Brit's chest, and the stiff material clinging to his legs only made the grueling trek even more arduous.<p>

"Fuck it all! Where the bloody hell is my unit?" He grumbled, stepping over a shard of metal that was jutting out of the floor. He ducked beneath a low hanging pipe as well. It was dripping a thick liquid that oddly resembled molten lava. Arthur also noted that there was a small hole just beneath the pipe, and the droplets vanished into it as they slid out of the pipe's dented exit, tumbling into a seemingly bottomless, black pit. Arthur made a mental note _not_ to investigate that any further while on this ridiculous mission. Or rather, his team's ridiculous mission, as Arthur had to painfully remind himself that he worked with a group of complete idiots.

Their mission had simply been to go into the destroyed lab, scout around for any salvageable data and get out. It was the very same mission that his team of investigators had some how managed to botch by getting horribly lost in the vast wasteland of the destroyed lab, leaving Arthur miserably alone to search for their objective.

"Fucking morons! How could they have gotten lost? I made sure that everyone's suit was installed with a map of the damn place! How fucking hard is it to follow a map?" He roared, stomping through a hallway littered with broken glass. He kicked a particularly large shard, sending it splintering across the walls.

"Hey! Don't bully the glass!" A garbled, electronic voice boomed, echoing through the dilapidated hallway.

Arthur nearly jumped out his skin. And just what the Hell was that? Had he really heard a voice commanding him not abuse a glass shard? No. That couldn't possibly be. This lab had been abandoned for years! There was no possible way a concerned citizen, who was obviously very protective of the glass, could still be in here after all these years!

"Christ, this atmosphere is getting to me." Arthur grumbled, glancing at the bottom part of his helmet screen and noting the low oxygen level in his suit. Clearly, he had been imagining things in some sort of audio hallucination. Sometimes a lack of oxygen in an inhospitable, devoid-of-all-life metal void of a laboratory did that to a human. He would have to find his crew of imbeciles soon for an oxygen re-supply if he wanted to stay sane (or at least stay alive) through this stupid mission.

Shaking off the strange vocal phenomenon, Arthur continued his trek through the lab. While he knew the voice was obviously just a figment of his imagination, the Brit unconsciously tried his best to avoid stepping on any more shards of glass. He made the extra effort to skirt around them, bumping into walls and pipes as he did so. After banging his shoulder against a particularly unforgiving wall fragment, he halted abruptly.

"What the bloody fuck is wrong with me?" He growled, realizing what he was subconsciously doing. And just for good measure to put his subconscious in its place, he stomped a piece of broken glass, grinning with satisfaction as it crunched under his boot heel.

"Why are you so mean? What did that glass ever do to you, huh?" The electronic voice yelled again, sounding genuinely hurt. Well, as hurt as an electronic machine's voice could possibly be, anyway. Arthur almost felt a bit guilty about squishing the glass now. Almost.

Arthur looked up, eyes narrowed as he searched for the source of the voice. Why did it sound so near now? If it was really his imagination, then why was it closer? Maybe he _wasn't_ imagining things after all?

The flicker of an idea suddenly crossed the Brit's mind.

"I'm sorry." He said aloud.

There was a silent, pregnant pause, leaving Arthur to question his sanity until the voice returned.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the glass." It said, sounding much like an elementary school teacher scolding a rambunctious child for throwing sticks at his playmate. This definitely wasn't Arthur's mind playing tricks on him. It was far too vivid to be a hallucination.

Arthur swore at the realization, and looked down at the glass at his feet. No. There was absolutely no way he was going to apologize to fucking _glass_.

"I refuse!" Arthur shouted.

"You're an awful person!" The voice retorted, shrieking in a high, heartbreaking tone that made the British investigator flinch. How in the world did it sound so sad?

"Probably just some malfunctioning emotion software." Arthur mumbled, returning to his walk. He didn't have time to dally along in the halls, chit-chatting with an overly emotional machine! There was a mission to accomplish, a team of idiots to find, and good, scathing lecture to give on the importance of being able to properly use one's resources: like maps.

The voice didn't return for sometime, and Arthur couldn't say he minded the silence.

"It's probably brooding!" He chuckled, brushing aside some dead wires that dangled down from the ceiling.

"I am _not_ brooding, you meanie!"

The Brit grit his teeth harshly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, nor did he think the voice had such good hearing! He had just barely whispered that under his breath! Choosing not to respond, Arthur made his way down another hallway after a sharp turn. The entire lining of one side of the passage was made from tall, glass panes that reached to the ceiling.

"Don't go down there!" The voice suddenly yelled again.

"Why? Afraid I might abuse your precious glass?" Arthur jeered with a snarl.

"N-No!" The voice quickly retorted, stuttering with a strange, nervous human quality. "I'm not afraid of anything!" It boldly declared after recovering from its initial uneasiness.

"Oh, is that so?" The Brit murmured, stepping up to the first of the many glass panes. Arthur curled his gloved fingers into a fist, his helmet hiding a malicious smirk.

"Wait! What are you doing?" The voice demanded, raising an octave in pitch.

Slowly, deliberately, Arthur drew back his arm, tensing the sinewy muscles.

"Hey!" The voice shrieked. "Don't play around! That isn't funny!"

Arthur slammed his fist into the glass with enough force to crack the wide pane. It sent splinters of lightning-shaped cracks dancing across the reflective surface.

"No! Stop! You'll break it!" The voice whirred, ear-piercingly loud.

Arthur drew back his fist, brushing the glass particles off his knuckles before punching the glass again. The Brit grinned. This was actually kind of fun! Every blow he landed on the glass was like a small burst of tension-relief all throughout his body. He struck the glass again and again, watching the tiny shards chip off and litter the ground. All around him, the voice screamed for him to stop, begging, crying and pleading for some mercy on the poor, defenseless glass.

Arthur refused to let up. Stupid glass! Stupid voice! Stupid mission! Stupid team of blockheads leaving him all alone in this God-forsaken dump!

"Please stop! It doesn't deserve this! Stop! Stop! !"

Finally, Arthur stepped back as the entire pane gave a loud groan, and the whole thing collapsed in a pile of sparkling, clear, crystal shards. Panting hard from exertion, Arthur grinned in sweaty triumph. The Brit looked up at the ceiling making sure to flash his middle finger up to where the lab's intercom speakers would be mounted on the ceiling tiles.

"Fuck you and your glass!" Arthur shouted, fury bubbling up in his words. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go back home to Earth, and not be stuck in the middle of outer space in a decaying lab with an infuriating piece of emotional software with a glass fetish! Why did he have to get picked for this mission anyway? Couldn't some rookie investigator have done it, instead of him? No, of course not. Because he was Arthur fucking Kirkland, one of the most respected Earth investigators on this side of the Milky Way. Who better to send crawling through the rubble of an old research lab than a famous Terran investigator with huge research projects in the works and a bright, budding future to enjoy? No one. That's who!

"I HATE YOU!" The voice screamed, making Arthur wince as the walls vibrated from the force.

"You don't even know me!" Arthur shouted back defensively. Who the Hell did this software think it was? How dare it yell at him like that! And why did it care about the glass so much? What was so bad about hitting some glass to relieve a _little _built up tension? He wasn't hurting anybody!

The voice was surprisingly silent after that, confusing the Brit. He hadn't expected silence after such an emotional outburst from earlier. Maybe he'd finally shut it up?

"Can I get to know you?" The voice asked in a tentative whisper after a few minutes.

"What?" Arthur sputtered. First it hated him, not it wanted to get to know him? This had to be the most virus-infested, file-corrupted piece of software Arthur had ever encountered. There was no other explanation for such a sudden mood swing. The Brit sighed wearily as the voice responded to him with a rather literal answer.

"Can I get to know you?"

"I heard you, damn wanker. And no. I don't need a deranged, piece of shit audio file knowing me. Thanks for the offer." He spit back with venom-laced sarcasm.

"Oh," Said the voice dejectedly. "Okay."

Satisfied with that answer, Arthur once more returned to his walk. Exiting the glass hall, the Brit turned the corner again. He was met with yet another crumbling passage that he followed to the end. Again, he turned the corner, heading down the next hall. And the next. And the one after that. And then down yet another hall after turning right. And finally, he walked into a dead end with a sign that quite obviously pointed out that Arthur was indeed at a dead end.

"Fuck all." He mumbled under his breath, checking his oxygen readings again. While his panting fogged up the helmet screen, Arthur could just barely make out the oxygen meter. It was dangerously low. The Brit could already feel the slow starvation of oxygen in his muscles forming burning cramps in the back of his calves. His lungs burned, and his mouth was as dry as cotton.

Arthur set his hand on the cracked wall, supporting some of his weight on it while he tried to regain his breath.

"You don't look so good…" The voice noted.

Startled, Arthur fell back on his rear end, gasping in surprise. He was seriously not in the mood to deal with annoying voice again. Especially not when it kept scaring him like that!

"I didn't ask for your opinion!" The blond growled back.

"You're lost, aren't you?"

"No!" Arthur quickly defended. He wasn't lost! _His team_ was lost, but Arthur most definitely knew where he was going! He had meant to run into a dead end, of course! He checked his map again on the screen of his helmet, and groaned. He couldn't make the slightest bit of sense out of the extremely vague image. So maybe he couldn't be entirely mad at his team for getting lost? The map wasn't exactly useful.

"Oh Hell, who am I fooling…?" Arthur sighed. "Yes," He admitted. "I'm lost."

"Really?" The voice inquired, sounding rather shocked. Arthur could barely contain his sarcasm as he answered.

"Indeed. So why don't you make yourself useful and point me to the exit? Can you do that?"

"Okay!" The voice sounded exuberantly happy to provide Arthur with something useful. "Go back down the hall you came, make a left, walk down that hall, make another left, but watch out for the loose tile on the floor, or you might fall through into the incinerator, keeping going down that hall, then take a right, go up the stairs and it's the first door on your left!"

Arthur blinked. That was… helpful? The Brit didn't bother to question it, knowing he'd probably get another ridiculous answer if he did.

He wobbled to his feet, using the wall for support and proceeded to follow the instructions. He made sure to test each of the massive floor tiles and sure enough, one of them caved beneath his experimental prodding. It left a gaping whole in the floor that didn't seem to lead to anywhere, but a foul, gaseous smell rose up from the square, black abyss that made Arthur's stomach churn dangerously.

He eagerly left it behind.

Climbing up the small set of stairs, Arthur turned left to face the rather plain looking door the voice had assured him would be there. There was nothing spectacular about it at all. It was entirely blank, and the Brit narrowed his emerald eyes in suspicion. This was far too easy. It had to be a trap. It was probably the voice's idea of revenge for breaking its precious glass, and on the other side there certainly wouldn't be an exit.

Growling, Arthur tried to ignore the faint beeping of his oxygen meter's reading sending out a warning signal. The Brit didn't have much of a choice at this point. If he didn't at least try the door, he would simply die from lack of oxygen without ever knowing.

He set his gloved hand on the push bar. At least this way, he could die knowing he had at least tried to find an escape. With one final, weary sigh, he pushed the heavy door open.

Very dim lighting and a painfully familiar voice greeted him as he entered.

"Hi!" The electronic voice chimed obnoxiously.

Arthur stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind him with a loud bang. The investigator's mouth hung open in shock as he stared at the thing in the center of the room.

Dangling from the ceiling was a massive structure made of a grotesque collection of a decent amount of various wires, cables and scraps of polished metal. It hung down nearly to the floor, occupying a large section of the room with a variety of unwound cables and sparking wires wiggling around it. It looked to be sectioned off in parts, with joint-like structures linking each segment. At the very end of the dangling machinery, a large sphere was attached with a good amount of wiring. Mounted on the sphere was an antenna centered between two glowing, azure orbs that looked remarkably like eyes.

"Dear God… what the Hell is that?" Arthur muttered, stepping closer.

The antenna wagged happily. The huge machine shifted, creaking as it extended on its joints to move closer to Arthur. The Brit stopped, and then stepped back in fear.

"Hello! It's me!" The voice said. Arthur pointed at the machine in disbelief.

The sphere attached to the machine bobbed up and down in confirmation.

"You're the twat who's been yelling at me this whole time?"

"Yep!" The machine bobbed its sphere again.

Now Arthur was certain, without any doubt, and completely convinced that the oxygen deprivation was affecting his brain. This was not real. There was no giant ceiling machine talking to him, there was no annoying voice, no freakishly waging antenna and certainly not those fascinatingly beautiful blue orbs either.

"You know, you don't have to wear your helmet in here. I changed the airflow in the room. There's plenty of oxygen for you to breathe."

Arthur shook off his disbelief for a moment. Well, if he was going to die of suffocation, why not humor his mind's hazy illusion and play along as if everything was completely normal? It couldn't hurt, right?

"I don't believe you. This is some sort of trick."

"You're right. I didn't really change the airflow. I just wanted you to take off your helmet so I could see your face." The voice confirmed, still sounding rather cheerful. Arthur was still trying process the huge mood swing change as well. When had the machine gotten so cheerful after yelling at him for breaking the glass? Oh well, it didn't matter, since it was all in his head anyway. Might as well keep the ruse going…

"I knew it!" The Brit accused. He knew he had been right all along! This was just some trick so that the machine could avenge its broken glass! It made perfect sense in the situation. "You lousy, little fucker! I won't fall for your tricks!"

The machine flinched away, and oddly enough its blue orbs changed slightly, looking hurt. The antenna on it the sphere drooped at well.

"I'm sorry! I'll change the air!" From somewhere, a switch flipped and Arthur could hear the distinct sound of air blowing.

"Look! See?" The machine shifted again, its sphere turning towards a vent on the far wall. Sure enough, colorful strips of ribbon tied to the metal plates of the vent billowed softly in the air.

"How do I know it's not poisonous gas?" Arthur questioned, still skeptical. This illusion sure was convincing!

"You don't, I guess. Please just take off your helmet. I really want to see you." The machine pleaded, leaning close to the Brit.

Arthur was silent for a few long, tense moments. Was it worth removing his helm to test the air? He was certainly going to die anyway. Maybe the poisonous gas would make it quicker then slowly dying of oxygen deprivation? Without much to lose, Arthur resigned and unclasped the locks on his helmet that connected it to his space suit. Wrenching the helmet off his head, he shook out his sweaty blond locks before looking back up at the machine.

It gasped softly, moving closer. The antenna set above its eyes began to wag again.

"Wow! You're so handsome!" It chimed dreamily, making Arthur blush. He took another step back, bumping into the wall as he did so. The machine followed, a variety of wires and small claw like appendages extending from one of its joints to surround Arthur on his exposed sides. The Brit opened his mouth to tell the machine to back the fuck up and give him some breathing space, but it feverishly interrupted him, sounding hot and flustered.

"Can I touch you?" It asked in a strange, electronic version of a breathy whine.

Arthur blushed an even deeper scarlet, unable to answer past the chocking lump that had formed in his throat. This was totally surreal. Somehow his dying illusion of an overly emotional metal goliath had turned into a freakish, lusty machine that wanted his body. That was just perfect. Just bloody fucking perfect and completely messed up. He should probably say no, and hope that maybe his mind had the decency to respect his personal space and leaving him unmolested, but found it impossible to speak up.

Unfortunately for the British investigator, the machine seemed to take the silence as explicit permission to continue and it drew even closer. One of the long metal appendages outstretched to gently brush his cheek while a few wires moved down to tickle Arthur's stomach.

The Brit couldn't suppress the nervous giggle that escaped his throat as the wires teased his belly. The machine seemed absolutely thrilled as a wide grin painted Arthur's lips.

"You like that?" it asked, antenna wagging madly.

Arthur most certainly did not! Who in their right minds would enjoy an overzealous machine touching them without their permission? But Arthur wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind, and could only giggle louder as the machine continued its ministrations.

The Brit felt his legs go weak as more wires reigned down to tickle Arthur along his neck and underarms, reducing him to giggling mess on the floor. He curled up, tears collecting at the corners of his emerald eyes as he laughed wildly.

"S-S-Stop-p!" He cried out, clutching his aching chest as he laughed.

The machine reluctantly obeyed, slowly withdrawing the wires and stowing them back beneath the mutilated scraps of metal covering its jointed form. It observed him with a little giggle of its own, rather enjoying the human's scarlet tinted cheeks, broad, gleaming smile and moist emerald eyes as he lied helplessly out of breath on the floor.

"You're cute." The machine observed. "What's your name, cutie?" It asked, using the best seductive voice it could find in the variety of audio emotion files stored in its memory.

Arthur couldn't hide how much that strange voice huskily drawling out those words made him feel. It sent tingles down his spine, and warm, burning heat coiling in his belly, shifting lower when the machine asked again. He curled up further, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed as his whole faced burned bright red.

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." He mumbled. He wondered if the machine had a name as well? "And what about you?" It was probably something generic, like a company brand name that had been installed in the machine, but still, Arthur was curious. He was surprised and confused when the machine seemed to snicker.

"Can't you read?"

Arthur blinked, still lying on the floor. He surely could, but just what the machine wanted him to read Arthur didn't know. One thing he did know, is that he was grateful the machine had stopped using that seductive voice, and the rushing heat slowly started to disperse.

"Pardon?"

"Can't you read my name tag?" The machine queried, its sphere tilting curiously.

"You're not wearing a name tag." The Brit observed.

The machine was silent a moment, processing the information before it suddenly gasped. It swung its jointed body around to the other side of the room. The metal appendages sprang forward again, snagging something from a pile of debris before the entire massive machine swiveled back to face the waiting Brit. The claws placed what appeared to be what was once a clean white lab coat over the jointed segment closest to the sphere. Arthur noted the grisly blood stains spattering the filthy coat along with a bright red name tag that read: _Dr. Alfred F. Jones._

"Silly me! I forgot I wasn't wearing my lab coat!" The machine said.

"You're a doctor?" Arthur asked in disbelief, his emerald eyes wide. That was certainly unexpected. He was totally unaware that ceiling machines could acquire high-level college degrees.

"Yep! I've worked in this lab for, oh, about 127 years, 205 days, 9 hours and 14 minutes, I think? There used to be other people here, too, but they left. I stayed, and so did my cat."

The Brit couldn't help the faint gasp that escaped his lips. 127 _years_? That was impossible! The lab itself was about that age, and had been closed nearly ninety years ago due to unethical experiments going on. How could this machine still be functioning after all this time, and how the Hell was it a doctor? Instead of inquiring about the important parts of Alfred's claims, he dumbly asked:

"Cat?"

"Yeah, he ran away though. He ran down that hall, and fell down the loose tile I warned you about. I haven't seen him since. I really miss him." The machine bowed its body, looking genuinely sad. "Can we not talk about it?"

"Very well." The Brit merely agreed, nodding his head. He didn't feel the need to push it any further if it made Alfred feel uncomfortable. Or whatever machines felt when they avoided subjects. He still wasn't entirely sure at this point.

"What about you being a doctor, then?"

"What about it?"

"How?" Arthur prompted.

"Well, I-" It suddenly paused, and then rapidly swiveled to face the opposite side of the room again. "There's more people!" It exclaimed. "Oh my God! So many people! I can't believe this!"

"What?" Arthur was terribly confused. More people? Did it mean his incompetent, but-not-really team?

The machine whirled around, its antenna wagging so furiously Arthur was afraid it might fly off. He was stunned by its next question.

"You're famous, aren't you? I haven't seen another human for almost a hundred years, then I find you, and then whole bunches of people show up! You are famous! I just know it! It's your posse isn't it?" The machine asked excitedly, its whole hulking body wiggling, bouncing and vibrating with excited joy.

"No. I don't have a posse. I'm an investigator for the Earth government. I think the people you're sensing are my team I got separated from."

"Earth…" The machine sighed. "I miss Earth."

"You know it?" Arthur asked, slowly sitting up.

"Know it? I was born there!" The machine declared with pride.

"Really?" Arthur was once again stunned. A machine _born_ on Earth? Something just didn't add up with that statement.

"Where at?" The emerald-eyed man questioned skeptically.

"America!"

Arthur groaned. Should have figured the overly friendly machine thought he was an American.

Wait, it was a he, wasn't it? It did have a male voice under the auto-tuned sound, and Alfred was a rather masculine name as well.

Arthur furrowed his brows. Did that also mean he had just been pleasantly tickled to tears by a _male machine_? For some reason, it made butterflies go flapping wildly in his stomach, leaving the investigator with an odd feeling he couldn't quite identify.

"So, how did you end up here then?" Arthur continued his questions to distract himself. The big machine had certainly piqued Arthur's curiosity. He wanted to know more about the monstrous metal thing dangling in front of him.

"Wait. They're really close." The machine informed him, leaning its segmented body towards the door.

The Brit followed the machine's line of sight as the sound of booted feet striking the metal floor reached his ears. He watched Alfred carefully. His whole metal body was quivering slightly, and he reared back with a joyful cry as the door suddenly swung open.

Arthur had been right. His team of investigators and bodyguards stormed into the room. Their escort guards were armed with various projectile weapons that they trained on the machine's bobbing form.

"Hi!" He exclaimed brightly, antenna wagging again. He didn't seem the least bit fazed by the variety of lethal weapons trained on him.

One of the investigators caught a glimpse of Arthur sitting on the floor and dashed up to warily eyeing Alfred, who was still wiggling with blissful happiness.

"Are you okay, Mr. Kirkland?" The woman asked. "It didn't hurt you, did it?" She asked, glancing to Alfred.

"No. He's actually quite friendly." Arthur said, glaring at the guards. Why were they still trained on Alfred? Wasn't it obvious that machine clearly meant them no harm? If anything, he would probably just start tickling them rather then being an actual threat.

Alfred made the mistake of extending a claw-like appendage out from under his metallic joint to curiously poke one of Arthur's team. One of the guards fired his weapon, blasting Alfred's wire joint that connected his sphere to the rest of his body.

Arthur winced as the machine loosed a terrible shriek of pain and jerked away from the humans. He cried miserably, babbling about how mean the humans were as he twitched.

Arthur felt his heart ache for the wounded machine. But it was quickly replaced by burning anger, and he rounded on the guards.

"You fucking wanker, what the Hell do you think you're doing? Shoot him again and I'll personally gouge out your eyes!"

"_Him_? What the fuck is wrong with you space geek?" The guard jeered with a snarl on his lips. He jerked his thumb to Alfred, who still sounded as if he were crying, and spit on the ground. "That _thing_ just tried to attack me!"

"No I didn't!" Alfred retorted bitterly. "And I'm a _doctor_, not a _thing_, you jerk!"

The guard rolled his eyes, and fired another shot at Alfred. The blast dented one of the ceiling machine's metal plates, but he cried out in pain again.

Arthur snarled, and jumped to his feet. The female investigator grabbed him by the back of his suit as he tried to lunge at the guard in a raging fury. How dare this ignorant fuck shoot Alfred again! He was going to give the man the thrashing of his life for that as soon as his blasted colleague let go of him!

"Let go!" He roared, emerald eyes smoldering.

Another guard looked to the collection of shocked investigators clustered around the door.

"Go on!" He bellowed. "Go shut that piece of shit machine down before we have to waste any more ammo on it."

"No!" Alfred shrieked, swinging around to block the rest of Arthur's team from accessing a small series of control panels on the left wall of the room.

The guards shot at Alfred again, severing off chunks of his metal body with each precise hit. Alfred screamed again, making Arthur whimper sympathetically as the machine writhed and trembled in acute agony.

"Make them stop, Artie! Make them stop!" He wailed.

Arthur could do nothing but watch as his team pried open the control panel, and after a serious of keystrokes, Alfred terrible screaming finally ceased. The machine's animated body powered down, dangling lifelessly from the ceiling. Even his blue orbs went completely dim.

Arthur stared in horror. Never in all of his life had Arthur been so stricken with a sense of loss as he was while staring at Alfred's limp, broken form. How could his team be this cruel? Was it so hard to see that Alfred hadn't been trying to hurt them? The friendly machine had been so excited to meet these people, and what had they done? They'd gone and deactivated him, like he was nothing more than a lifeless machine. Could they not hear his screams of pain? Or have seen the vibrant wiggling of his body to show that he was more than just an ordinary chunk of metal and circuitry?

The blond collapsed to the ground, clutching his heart in pain. The Brit could do nothing more then look on in agonized confusion as his team swarmed around him. Vaguely he could feel someone slip his helmet back on, and lock the clasps. But the moment they tried to help him up, a searing pain filled his head, and Arthur slipped from the waking world, whispering:

"I'm so sorry, Alfred…so sorry…"

* * *

><p>Arthur woke with a start. Sweat beaded his brow, neck and chest as he sat up, slowly shaking off the nightmare that had been plaguing him. It had been an on-going problem ever since he had returned from his mission at the abandoned lab and his fateful encounter with the emotional ceiling machine, Alfred F. Jones. His dark dreams usually consisted of Alfred's high-pitched electronic voice screaming, and begging for Arthur to save him. Tonight's was especially bad, as he could almost feel the machine's screams reverberating in his chest, making his heart feel as if it were about burst open with an intense longing to somehow comfort the terrified metal creature.<p>

With a weary sigh, he threw back the sweat-dampened covers, and sat on the edge of the bed. He shivered when his feet touched the cold, sleek floor to his temporary government provided house. Slowly, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to think about the machine haunting his mind.

A sharp knock on the front door made Arthur flinch violently. Who the Hell was knocking on his door at this ungodly hour of the morning? It didn't really matter to Arthur; he was going to give them a verbal lashing no matter who was on the other side of the metal frame as he rose from the bed. Grabbing the handle, he yanked it open with enough force to shake the jam and glared death at the figure looming on his tiny porch.

"What the fuck do you want, Francis?" He growled out, recognizing the man.

"You're so rude, Arthur!" Francis snickered, shoving past the Brit to enter the house uninvited. "Don't you want hear about my latest breakthrough?"

"No. Now kindly get the fuck out of my house!" Arthur demanded.

"Oh, come now, Arthur. I think you'll be very interested in _this_." He said, fishing into his trouser pockets.

Arthur's emerald-eyes glimmered curiously when the French researcher produced a tiny memory chip from his deep pockets. He waved it about before tossing it to Arthur, who caught it easily.

He turned the chip over in his hand. A small length black wire was threaded through a hole in the corner. The chip was warm in his hands, and it vibrated ever so slightly. Curious, the Brit glanced back to Francis, who wore a knowing smirk.

"Consider that a souvenir from my research lab. We pulled it out of the control panel in that abandoned lab you investigated a few months ago."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"It asked me to." Francis replied smoothly, as if it were completely normal for memory chips to make demands.

"What are you talking about, frog-face?" Arthur asked, rolling his thumb over the chip's smooth front. This had to be some sort of stupid joke Francis had concocted after having too much to drink one night.

"While we were trying to decode the nearly 128 years worth of data stored on the chip, a message popped up on my display screen. It said, _'who are you?_' I told it exactly who I was, and then it asked if I knew you. The message was delighted that I did, and asked me if I could bring it to you."

"And you did." Arthur mumbled in shock. Francis had actually answered an unknown anomaly, introduced himself, did it a favor and brought it to Arthur. Somehow, the Brit could believe it knowing just how strange Francis was.

"Indeed I did. It turns out that our little mystery chip is the left over remnants of the original researcher at the abandoned lab. Those unethical experiments that had it shut down? He was studying the transfer of human thoughts, emotions and mental processes into machines. It was originally funded to create immortal humans by placing their personalities and mental aspects into automatons."

"But it was shut down because you need a live human to perform the experiments…" Arthur quickly filled in the blanks.

"Exactly that." Francis confirmed. "It seems one of researchers, a Dr. Jones, refused to abandon his work, and when the Earth government came to shut down his lab, he used the experimental process on himself. He successfully transferred himself into the lab's control panel. From there he could run his whole lab, and chased away the government officials. Unfortunately, the experiment wasn't as successful as he thought. Over time, the files seemed to change format as he interacted with the lab's software. I found a garbled mess of mangled emotional files and processes. I'll bet he was a real strange one. That's a whole other story though.

"The government didn't bother wasting any more time with the lab until they sent you and your team, Arthur."

Francis watched his long time friend with curiosity as the Brit processed the information. It was a lot to take in, he knew, but Arthur seemed content with the new notion.

"Thank you, Francis." He said at last, breathing a soft sigh. He put his hands behind his neck, carefully tying the wire on the chip tightly. The chip rested neatly over his heart, warming his pale skin through his thin nightshirt. It felt alive against him, sending strange tingles into his belly.

"Enjoy, Arthur, since Jones seemed overjoyed when I told him I would bring him to you. Seems you finally made a friend other then me, Arthur. Good for you!" The Frenchman jested, much to the Brit's annoyance.

"Get out." He simply said with an annoyed bite to his words, and Francis obeyed, sauntering to the door.

"Now don't have _too_ much fun, my darling!" Francis winked coyly, dashing out the door before Arthur could catch up to punch him. The Brit snarled as he slammed the door after Francis, but his anger quickly mellowed as he looked down at Alfred's final body.

He let the tiny chip rest in the palm of his hand, smiling in delight as Alfred's electronic voice reached his ears.

"Hi, Artie!" He chimed sweetly.

"Hello, Alfred." The Brit returned with an airy sigh.

"I missed you."

"I missed you as well, git." Arthur responded, feeling his heart warm and swell with a simple, sugary-sweet happiness.

"Hey, Artie?" The voice sounded mildly shy, making the emerald-eyed Brit snicker.

"Yes?"

"Could we go on a date? I haven't been on a date with anyone in almost a hundred years! Humans still do that, right?" The voice babbled joyfully.

"Yes, Alfred, we still do that." He said simply. "And I would love to go on a date with a little microchip." Arthur smirked, holding Alfred to his heart. The tiny thing was so exuberant that the blond didn't have the heart to deny him. Besides, what was the harm in a little change in dating style every now and again?

"I like this. Does this count as a date?" Alfred inquired.

"We'll call it that."

"Hooray!" Alfred cheered.

It was strange, sure, but Arthur didn't mind. He had never had a normal life; so maybe dating a microchip was just another odd occurrence to add to his long list? It made him happy and that's all he really needed.

**:D So, what did you think? Creeper machine/mad scientist Al kind of neat, or totally lame? Oh, and this is in the future, don't know when, and I am not really caring to be specific anyway. Sorry about being vague, but it is a one-shot AU after all. There's only so much I can do without totally boring you with driveling details you likely don't care about.**

**Oh and I do apologize about the excessive swearing. I swear a lot naturally, and I just wrote this without really stopping to think about it so some of my sailor vocabulary sort of transferred into it. Besides, we all know Artie has a potty mouth, even though he hides it behind his usual gentlemanly appearance. Am I right? ;)**


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